Very sorry to read about the passing of screenwriter William Goldman at the age of 87. His list of screenplays is voluminous, just touching on them includes Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All the President's Men, (which both won Oscars for Best Screenplay), The Princess Bride (based on his novel), Misery, A Bridge Too Far, Marathon Man, Absolute Power, The Hot Rock, Maverick, Chaplin, The Great Waldo Pepper -- and remarkably much more. He also wrote more than a dozen novels, including the book No Way to Treat a Lady (written under a pseudonym, Harry Longbaugh -- oddly enough, the real name of the Sundance Kid -- on which the wonderful movie was based, written before his screenwriting career. And among his non-fiction work, he most-famously wrote the classic book about screenwriting and Hollywood, Adventures in the Screen Trade, which included the now-famous, regularly-quoted line, "No one knows anything." Its sequel is pretty good, too, with the great title, Which Lie Did I Tell? (That's a quote from a movie producer he was in a meeting with, when the guy put a phone caller on holder, buzzed his secretary and asked her the question.) And a great book on Broadway, The Season.​

His brother James was an extremely talented writer, as well, with works that include the play and movie, A Lion in Winter, for which he too won a Best Screenplay Oscar, and the the book for the Stephen Sondheim musical, Follies.

This may now seem like a pointless digression, but trust me, it's not.

I've mentioned on these pages attending a summer camp in Wisconsin, Camp Nebagamon, for many years, as a very young family-camper, doctor's son, camper and counselor. Many decades ago, during my counselor phase, some friends picked me up after camp ended one year and we all went on a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in Minnesota. That winter, I was talking with one of them on the phone when we both away at college, and he mentioned he'd just finished reading a novel, Your Turn to Curtsy, My Turn to Bow, which takes place at a summer camp, and he said that it reminded him so much of Camp Nebagamon, which he had seen for about a total of 90 minutes, especially the drive in along the lake front. After I noted that the book was by William Goldman, I asked him to guess what summer camp Goldman had gone to. Yes, Camp Nebagamon. In fact, when I went to the library shortly after and found the book the passage where the main character enters the camp is a near-exact description of the lakefront path into the camp.

Little known fun-fact. There was an unsuccessful musical written in the early 1960s, A Family Affair, that nonetheless had quite a wonderful pedigree. It was written by three young mn near the beginnings of their respective careers -- William Goldman, James Goldman and composer John Kander, (who went on to write Cabaret and Chicago, among a great many others, but with a different partner, Fred Ebb). What most people wouldn't know, though, is that the three all met at Camp Nebagamon. (Well, okay, Bill and Jim knew each other before...)

Other than that tangential overlap with Goldman, I actually had a couple of real-life overlaps.

The Goldman family was from Highland Park, Illinois, which is the town that borders Glencoe, where I grew up, and where my dad had his medical office. I think possibly my grandparents may have slightly known William Goldman's parents, though I know that my parents did, since they both belonged to Northmoor Country Club there. One summer, after getting my Masters degree in screenwriting my UCLA, I was home, and stopped by the pool where my mother was sitting with Goldman's mother. My mom introduced us and explained I had just got my post-graduated degree in screenwriting, and Mrs. Goldman said that I "should write Billy" and gave me his address in New York City.

After returning to Los Angeles, I did write him, and got back one of my most cherished letters, which I still have. It was a one-page typed note, complete with cross-outs that was as thoughtful, interesting and bluntly curmudgeonly as was William Goldman's reputation. (See photo above...) It also was virtually a one-page version of Adventures in the Screen Trade many years before that book was written -- and even includes the line, "No one knows anything." There are two other favorite passages in the letter. One is when he writes that he can be of absolutely no help to me in any way, shape or form, not even with a contact to his agent who is getting on in years and not taking on new clients, but that "You should use all the contacts you have (like my mother)". I still laugh when I think of that line. And the letter concludes with, "It is a mean, nasty, brutish business, but no one made you go into it." About as Goldmanesque as you can get. The very end of the letter says that with any luck I'll be in hock on a house and car and he wishes me luck.

The other path-crossing came when I was a very minor executive at Universal Pictures. I had read the novel of The Princess Bride a few years before, and loved it, recommended by my friend Adam Bezark, but it was still a lesser-known work, the movie not having been made yet, nor would be for years. I was curious though if a screenplay had ever been written and it turns out that Goldman had indeed done so, and I tracked down a copy. Not shockingly, it was very good, though being a movie it only could tell the story on two levels (the main adventure and the one with the young boy with his grandfather, which in the book is his father) -- the third level, with Goldman talking directly to the reader about him supposedly adapting the "original book" by S. Morgenstern (which is not real) is hilarious, but totally literally and not something you could do in a movie. Anyway, I had my secretary find Goldman himself, and I called him to discuss making a movie of the book. (What can I say, I was years ahead of my time. Again...)

It was a fascinating, and odd conversation. He was crusty (see photo above...), and had dealt with far too many studio executives at that point to care deeply about one more, let alone a punk kid. Out of semi-desperation I broke the ice a bit by noting that I'd written to him years before through his mother, and our Camp Nebagamon connection. That helped, though only a small bit. What what did break through was when I mentioned I was friends with another Nebagamonite, Adam Bezark (also like the Goldmans from Highland Park), whose father Bud had gone to camp with the Goldman brothers, and I knew they had stayed friends. That helped with a connection being made. But then the memorable exchange occurred.

One of the reasons why I wanted to talk with him before pitching the project to my direct boss, who was the head of the studio, was that "third level" which wasn't in the screenplay, the author talking to the reader. I wanted to know anything about it being left out, or if he'd ever done something with that in any other draft? But being young, and a little in awe, I didn't phrase it well, and any goodwill I'd built up was instantly gone. Instantly. He got immediately snarky and said something like, "No, when I wrote the script, I decided not to do the best job I could and didn't include what would I knew would make it even better." As I began to panic, though, The Miracle occurred, and the gods stepped in and saved me. The phone line actually went dead in mid-sentence. I had my secretary reconnect us, but during that interim of relief I quickly tried desperately to figure out what I could say to save myself. And I came up with something. When we got connected again, I profusely apologized for my lack of clarity and said that what I really was trying to ask was whether or not he'd written other versions of the script for another medium -- like the theater or as a TV mini-series -- where he could use the narrator that was so wonderful in the book? (Okay, that wasn't precisely what I really had been asking, only tangentially, but I figured it was close enough and a far better explanation than how I had bumbled through.) The explanation happily placated him, he even seemed to appreciate it, and said no, he'd only written it as a screenplay. The call concluded well, but unfortunately my bosses did not follow-up and make a movie of The Princess Bride. And about five years later, someone else did.

Fun side note: About five years ago, I read an article that Goldman was involved with adapting The Princess Bride for...the theater!!!! Perhaps as a musical. Nothing came of it -- yet at least, so who knows? -- but once again: years ahead of my time.

Very sorry to read about William Goldman's passing. Very happy for all the great work he left behind.

Now, the admonition: don't give up on this yet. After I tell you about it, if you still don't want to watch the video, fair enough. But this is mainly about Bob Costas, so give it a chance.

I love Bob Costas. He's not only a terrific baseball announcer, he's a terrific announcer for any sport he does. He has a sense of history and perspective, and brings to it whatever he's announcing. And he may be at his peak when he's the anchor of some sporting event, like the Olympics. He is an impeccable storyteller and has a sense of great decency, but is laser-like pointed when discussing difficult issues and in his interviewing. Indeed, he's had interview shows that have nothing to do with sports.

I crossed paths with him briefly, during my dark days of publicity, when I worked on the movie, BASEketball, in which he appeared, with a bunch of other sportscasters, though he was the main one. Before production, I had get to biographical information from him, so I called his office, which was at his home in St. Louis. As it happened, he answered the phone. His secretary was out, and he didn't get a replacement to fill in, he just handled what was needed. Well, as best he could -- he admitted being a total techno-luddite. We had a very enjoyable conversation, but when it came to faxing me his bio, he didn't have a clue how to do it, and he'd need to have his secretary do it when she got back. Keep in mind, this is a guy who has won 20 Emmy Awards! He lives in the world of technology and its pinnacle. And he didn't know how to fax. (Put paper in slot. Dial phone number. Tap send.)

We got to spend more time on the movie set, and it was a pleasure talking with him. Smart, personable and very approachable. He's also very religious, and said he wasn't sure he'd be okay with his young kids seeing the R-rated movie. But he willingly did any of the odd, occasionally raunchy things the filmmakers had him do. He didn't try to impose his views on anyone. The only request he made -- and it was a request -- was about a joke that would have a personal impact on one of his family members, and he wondered if the filmmakers could address it differently. They happily just took it out.

That brings us to now. Bob Costas finally was elected into the Broadcast Wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame, receiving the Ford C. Frick Award. Why it took him this long is beyond me, he should have gotten the honor a decade ago. But no matter. He was elected and he made no bones about being the greatest honor of all he's received -- which are a great many, including eight Sportscaster of the Year Awards.

The short version of my rant.

As you might imagine, I really wanted to see Costas’s induction speech but it got buried, and I missed it. (They held his induction the day before the player inductions this year -- I think they're usually at the same ceremony, but since there were six ballplayers elected this year, it was probably deemed too many for the same day.) And the MLB Network hasn’t repeated the broadcast. And (worse) the Baseball Hall of Fame website doesn’t have ANY of the speeches on their site. (Not just from this year, but any from the past, either. Which is an idiot decision, since it would drive traffic to their site). And I could find none of the speeches on YouTube.

I’ve searched online and nothing, but fortunately, I did find ONE place that has the audio of it. But then, much to my pleasure, the inveterate Chris Dunn -- he of many talents, several of them very usual, the remainder mostly intriguing -- actually tracked the video down.

You will also not be shocked to know – 1) being the impeccable storyteller I noted above that he is, it’s 33 minutes, 2) it’s absolutely tremendous, and 3) it’s seems like about 12 minutes. And being Costas, he mostly talks about other people.

While it's about baseball, it's as much about personalities, and about what is important in sport and life. If you don't like baseball, fine, I get it. But this is Bob Costas. The Hall of Fame. It's really wonderful.

[NOTE: This video seems to automatically repeat, and I can't find a way to pause it. But you can stop it by reloading the page, or if you want to stay on the page, at least hit the Mute button.]

There have been a bunch of postings on social media today about it being the birthday of Fred Gwynne, who passed away in 1993 at the age of 67. And all of these postings have a photo of him from the TV series The Munsters, clearly his more recognizable role. But --

Back in my dark days when I was a unit publicist, I worked on the Stephen King film Pet Sematary that Fred was the co-star of. He gave a extremely good performance and was a nice man -- not overly outgoing, but personable and approachable. But when it came time for me to interview him...he would NOT talk about The Munsters. He almost shut down when I brought the topic up. And no, it's not that I just sort of got that impression, but he specifically said that he wouldn't talk about it. He fully recognized that the show made him famous, and clearly there were benefits from that, but he said bluntly it pretty much ruined his acting career. He was deeply typecast and couldn't get roles -- or at least decent roles -- for a long time. Happily, late in career he started getting hired in some solid roles and gave wonderful performances, most particularly in The Cotton Club memorably paired alongside Bob Hoskins, but also My Cousin Vinnie, as the judge, and the aforementioned, Pet Sematary. Unfortunately, he passed away in the midst of this long-overdue renaissance -- but at least he had the renaissance.

And lest one think that he was being presumptuous about his acting career -- know that he appeared on Broadway quite a bit, making his debut in Mrs. McThing (by Mary Chase, who wrote Harvey) opposite Helen Hayes. And his first movie, though uncredited, was On the Waterfront. And during the years he had difficulty getting solid roles in films and TV, he returned to the stage often, such as the Broadway revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof as 'Big Daddy,' and in two parts of the Broadway production of A Texas Trilogy, as well as the stage manager in the American Shakespeare Festival production of Our Town. He was also a good singer -- appearing on Broadway in the Meredith Willson musical, Here's Love, based on The Miracle on 34th Street, for which I included one of his songs here. And I also embedded a video of him here singing a song in his first sitcom, Car 54, Where Are You? And an accomplished painter and illustrated and wrote several well-regarded children's books.

I've tried to "correct the record" when I've seen some social media postings on Fred with those photos, since I'm certain it would have galled him. But that's an uphill battle with no expectation of success. But at least here I can not only give the proper record -- but have a proper photo, as well.

And what the heck, let's end it with a bonus: Here's Fred Gwynne singing Gilbert & Sullivan's "A Policeman's Lot" (from The Pirates of Penzance, though with altered lyrics) from an episode of Car 54, Where Are You?. at the precinct's holiday party.

The celebrated writer Harlan Ellison passed away the other day at the age of 84. If you jump over to Mark Evanier's site, he has a couple of good pieces on him here and here. (And check back there in a few days, as well, because he's swamped now, but has some other stories he'll be posting.) However, there's also an excellent, long and detailed obituary that's really more of a personal remembrance of Ellison in the Chicago Tribune. You can read that here.

Among other things, I had no idea about him suing the makers of The Terminator (though him suing anybody doesn't remotely surprise me) and winning a settlement, which included adding an acknowledgement to him in the film's credits.

All the articles on his passing have one thing in common -- their conflict between praising a tremendous writer and wonderful man...and his profound curmudgeon who could be brutally harsh. One thing that writers did love him for is his unabashed support for writers against their mistreatment by publishers, studios, executives and pretty much anyone. He could get away with it because, being Harlan Ellison, he couldn't be any other way, but also being such a wonderful writer who worked in many different fields, he had no fear of being confrontational.

I only crossed paths with him a couple times, and he certainly was a unique fellow. One time was at Writers Guild retreat where he was one of the guest speakers. I remember his first line, even though it was from over two decades ago. "I'm a better writer than everyone in this room." (He probably was. But what a way to win over a crowd. He did eventually, but it took a while...)

The first time I came into contact with him was from a two-day seminar he lead when I was at UCLA grad school, getting my MFA in screenwriting. For Day 1, he got three famous sci-fi writers to discuss what a planet society could be like (the climate, landscape, people, politics…), and then that was put into a pamphlet. Then on Day 2, three other famous sci-fi writers discussed what stories could come from that. I recall they named the planet, “Medea: Harlan’s World.” I had the presence of mind to save my pamphlet – though like a fool, didn’t take many dozens – and got all those participants present to sign it. Those who participated in Part 1 but who weren't there were Poul Anderson, Larry Niven, Frederick Pohl, and Hal Clement. But the people who did sign my pamphlet were Ellison, Frank Herbert, Theodore Sturgeon, Robert Silverberg, and Thomas Disch. If you don't read science fiction, you likely won't know these names -- though may know Frank Herbert, who wrote Dune. If you do read science fiction, you're likely agog. (What ultimately came from this pamphlet and seminar is a book with those short stories and others. You can read about it here.​

​​​Probably a couple decades later, I ran into him when I was working at Universal Pictures, and I had a rare treat – being able to impress Harlan Ellison. I told him that I had a copy of that pamphlet with all those signatures, and he was boggled. “That’s worth a lot of money, you know…” Just impressing Harlan Ellison may have been worth more.

This is the Kennedy Center Honors ceremony for composer Richard Rodgers in 1978. It's very enjoyable, though I did expect bigger, more dramatic entertainment, given the subject. Still, it's fun, especially the introduction by Mary Martin, who starred in two legendary Rodgers-and-Hammerstein musicals, South Pacific and The Sound of Music.

I absolutely love Michael Palin. Love, love, love his work. Everyhing Python, of course, but also Ripping Yarns, his many travel documentaries (most especially the joyous Around the World in 80 Days and Pole to Pole), and his movies, from A Fish Called Wanda to A Private Function (an odd film, but he's a joy) to Brazil to the recent The Death of Stalin, and folderol in between. The good news is that he's done so much work that's there still a great deal left to see.

And here's a wonderfully-enjoyable hour-long BBC documentary on the good fellow, A Life on Screen, done just this year.

Back in my dark days of doing movie PR, I was working at Universal Pictures when we released Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. And one of my assignments was to moderate a Q&A with the Python gang after a screening of that film -- alas, it has ever been a disappointment that he was the one Python who couldn't make it. (Side note: I was bowled over by how nice his writing partner Terry Jones was. And surprised by how nice Eric Idle was.)

But I know that Michael Palin would have been even nicer. I say that because my good friend, the writer-director Rob Hedden made a documentary early in his career about the making of Brazil, and raved about how amazingly nice Palin was. He's shown me outtakes of the day he went to Palin's home to interview him which has just heartwarming and hilarious. But then, what's in the movie is aces enough. Most actors hate doing behind-the-scene interviews during a production, you have to maneuver around their schedules and back them into a corner until they can't back out. But when Rob and his small crew (which included his wife, Jan) showed up at Palin's home on an off-day (P.S. as much as actors hate doing behind-the-scenes interviews during a production...they ABSOLUTELY HATE doing them on their off-days. The phrase you hear is -- "No. It's my OFF-DAY") -- he not only graciously gave them as much time as they needed...but suggested that rather than just a simple sit-down interview, how about if he did a number of sketches as different characters, playing various staff members of Michael Palin protecting him from the film crew. Oh, and since the filming took a long time, he invited the crew in and made them lunch.

That's why I feel comfortable saying he would have been nicer.

(I wrote about Rob's documentary, What is Brazil? and embedded the 30-minute documentary, which you can see here. It's one of the best "making of" documentaries I've ever seen. Yes, he's my friend, but I'm not alone -- it won two awards and even showed at the Smithsonian Institution. And by the way, when this BBC documentary deals with Palin's appearance in Brazil...they actually use several sequences from Rob's documentary! If you look in the lower left corner, you can see the credit to What is Brazil? and Rob as director. But I digress.)

For all the joking they make about his travel documentaries for the BBC, they're absolutely wonderful. The two I mentioned above are particularly great, but most especially Around the World in 80 Days. They don't explain what about it makes it so great -- probably because most of the British audience knows -- but it's unique. It's one of the rare travel documentaries with a plot. Palin tries to recreate Phileas Fogg's journey in Jules Verne's classic, and so there are deadlines to make connections through the multi-part series, so there's conflict throughout, and it actually builds to an exciting conclusion. Pole to Pole -- which makes a trip between poles -- does sort of the same thing (trying to make the trip before weather closes travel off), and it's very good, though the first remains the best.

A few notes. At one point, he refers to getting a letter of praise from "Spike." That's Spike Milligan, one of the creators of The Goon Show, which Palin earlier references as his comic inspiration. Also, there are several interview with Connie Booth, who later appeared with Palin in a movie he co-wrote -- but she's also John Cleese's ex-wife, and one of the co-creators and stars (as the maid, 'Polly') of Fawlty Towers. And finally, at about the 44-minute mark something goes bizarre with the sound for about three minutes. The picture continues, but it's like we get the opening three minutes of sound instead. But then it reverts to normal at around 47-minutes. I have no idea what happened, but clearly that isn't the way it went out over the BBC.

I've mentioned my friend Myles Berkowitz here occasionally over time. He's a terrific guy and unique. Among other things, he has a political philosophy that he likes to say is "libertarian," but he's wrong since it's like no libertarian known to mankind. It's a combination of liberal libertarian, conservative libertarian, liberal, and some positions that don't follow known-standards, along with on occasion even a little-discovered corner of conservative. I've never heard a similar political philosophy. I tell him he is a Mylesist, because that's the only way to describe it.

This isn't about politics, though. Among Myles' background, I should note is that he attended Wharton School of Management. And unlike Trump, a) got in on his grades, b) went there the full two years, c) didn't transfer in halfway through, and d) actually did very well. (Still, it's fun to annoy Myles when appropriate by saying, "Oh, like Trump?") I believe he was president of his class, but I've never quite understood a universe where this could happen. I do know that one of his professors there was William Kristol -- yes, that William Kristol. And to this day, it galls Myles that Kristol only gave him a B on a paper, and that's just because he went into the office to argue it up from a lower grade. (The story doesn't end there. Several years later, Myles was walking through New York when he saw the office building where he knew William Kristol's father worked -- Irving Kristol was the managing editor of Commentary magazine and is considered the "godfather" of neoconservatism. And Myles went to Irving Kristol's office. Why? To tell him about his son giving Myles a B on that paper, and complaining about it. No, really.)

I told you, he's unique. I don't lie to you folks.

But this isn't about college degrees. In recent years, Myles has been an entrepreneur and, among other things, was the co-founder of a "portion control" diet product, Lifesize, which I wrote about here. The company is still in its start-up stage, though it got a terrific article in the New York Times, which my piece links to, as well, for those interested in reading about such things.

But this isn't about Lifesize either. That's because before this -- in quite a few years back -- Myles had a career in movies and television. He stills dabbles in it when he has the time and inclination, but he began as an actor, and then morphed into a writer, and then director. In fact, he made an absolutely wonderful fake-documentary for Fox Searchlight in 1998 called 20 Dates. I don't call it a mockumentary, because those are films done in a documentary style, but you know they're fake. 20 Dates looks and feels like an actual documentary, and to this day most people who've seen it swear that it is one. And the odd thing is some actually is, but 92% is a structured story. There's no script, but an outline, so that part is ad-libbed, sort of like what Larry David later did with Curb Your Enthusiasm -- though that's clearly a work of fiction. As I said, 20 Dates looks like an actual documentary.

(The plot of the film is that a character named Myles Berkowitz has convinced a producer, Elie Samaha, that he should fund a movie documentary about Myles trying to find true love by going on 20 dates. And he'll film all of this for a movie. It's worth noting that Elie Samaha is the film's actual producer and was married at the time to actress Tia Carrere. The phone conversations you hear in the movie with Elie often yelling at Myles about the film and budget and casting are real. And so are a couple of the dates Myles goes on. And so too are the on-camera interviews with Myles' friends who are prompted to be honest about describing Myles -- and they're brutally and hilariously so. But all that takes up only about 8% of the movie. The rest of the film is fiction. Including the scenes with Elie's wife, Tia Carrere. And actress Julie McCullough playing herself. (From the series, Growing Pains, and most recently the Sharknado TV films.) That's why it's so difficult for people to grasp that the movie isn't a real documentary. It's that well-done, with everything blended together. Alas, for reasons unknown to man, Fox Searchlight has never put it on DVD. Though they did have a VHS release at the time. And even put out a soundtrack.)

Happily, though, the trailer for the movie is available. It's not much to have, but it's better than nothing. And it gives a pretty good sense of the movie. It includes a bunch of his efforts to meet women -- I won't tell you which ones are real and which are set up, they're that natural, and much of the fun is trying to figure it out. I will say, though, that the sequence of him trying to drive onto movie studio lots is real. (The trailer only has a short clip of that here.) He didn't tell the security guards it was for a movie until after the fact, when he needed them to sign a release. And the shot when the camera goes haywire -- that was real. (The cameraman following behind on a date walked into a fire hydrant. Myles left it in, since understandably it added to the sense of total believability.)

Here it is --

For goodness sake, Fox Searchlight -- put this out on DVD already!!

Oh, and by the way, this article here isn't about 20 Dates either. Well, not exactly, but tangentially. However, all this background is necessary to put the proper perspective on what it's all actually about. And in the end, it's also to show you that as brash, annoying and funny as Myles Berkowitz is, he's also incredibly thoughtful, warm and charming.

About a month ago, Myles got a letter from a guy who'd tracked him down. The fellow was about to celebrate his first anniversary, and his wife's very favorite movie in the world was...20 Dates. She and her sister would watch it relentlessly. (She had a VHS copy.) And the guy decided for their first anniversary he wanted to do something special related to his wife's most-favorite movie in the entire world.

And what that was is, after tracking down Myles, he asked if Myles would write something special to her -- on paper, since the first anniversary is paper. Now, mind you, the husband could have asked for a signed photograph. Or a signed poster. Both paper. But no, he asked the filmmaker to write something to his wife that would be meaningful for their first anniversary. Most filmmakers would probably answer, "That's very nice of you to ask, but I write for a living and get paid for it. But I'm happy to sign a 8x10 glossy for you." Or "Fine, you write something out for me, and I'll handwrite a copy and sign it." Or perhaps, "Get lost." But Myles being Myles said, "Okay."

I told you he was unique.

Myles said the guy was pretty unrelenting about it and sort of pushy. "But how could I turn him down? That's pretty much how I am, too, and the character in the movie." So, it just seemed too natural to him.

And here is what he wrote. It's awfully good. The couple's anniversary, by the way, was this past Sunday. Myles asked me to wait until after it passed before I posted this.

So, here you are --

​Dear Melinda (not her real name),

Congratulations on your one-year anniversary. This being your paper anniversary, I did something I haven’t done in many years – I went to the Post Office and mailed a letter. I’m just grateful this isn’t your 11th anniversary because it is almost impossible to write on steel, and I would have had to use a lot more stamps to mail that letter.Your husband tells me that you and your sister Toni used to watch “20 Dates” over and over again when you were growing up. So I have one question for you ladies –Why have you stopped? Now while I don’t know if Toni learned anything from my movie, apparently you have. You seem to have found, dated and married a great guy.Matt asked me to maybe give you some wisdom on your anniversary. The problem is…”20 Dates” is about dating, not marriage. And while I don’t know if it had a lot of good advice about dating, I know it was very inspirational to a lot of couples. I don’t mean to brag, but I can’t tell you how many women have come up to me and thanked me for making the movie over the years because, they said, after watching me they realized that the guy they were with wasn’t so bad after all.Actually, maybe you should be the one giving marriage advice because while I don’t know Matt for longer than a brief phone conversation, the fact that he knew you liked my movie, took the time to think about something clever to give you for your first anniversary, and then actually reached out to me speaks volume. Just to make sure you get it –The man thinks about you without you knowing it, and tries to make you happy. Which perhaps is the secret of a joyous and long marriage right there.I hope if you try to do something like this for his birthday that his favorite movie isn’t something like “Casablanca,” because, you know, they’re all dead by now so no one will be sending letters.I also hope, and I want you to promise me, that on your 20th Anniversary you include me in your celebration then too. But I’m telling you right now, and to be very clear, I will be sending you some china…not sending you, and Matt and Matt Jr. to China.Congratulations!Myles Berkowitz

I've been remiss in not mentioning the passing of Barbara Cook, who died on Tuesday at the age of 89. She had a legendary career on Broadway, yet kept working as a solo concert performer until late in her life. But she even still performed on Broadway as recently as 2010 in the revue, Sondheim on Sondheim.

I suspect most people have a reasonable sense of her highlights, most notably creating the role of 'Marian the Librarian" in The Music Man, as well as 'Cunegonde' in Candide and 'Miss Balish' in She Loves Me. There's a lot more, like Plain and Fancy, and The Grass Harp, along with numerous revival productions on Broadway, like The King and I, and Show Boat, and national tours of Funny Girl and The Unsinkable Molly Brown,

And lots more. Lots. But rather than go into it all, here's the musical section of when she received the Kennedy Center Honor in 2011.

There's another video that includes the biographical section of the evening, and it's quite good. But the voice and picture is out of sync, and there are Japanese subtitles which get a bit distracting, as well. But if you want to see it, you can watch here. (It says the video runs 35 minutes, but it doesn't. It's 17 minutes, and gets repeated.)

But I couldn't leave it at that. How can you honor Barbara Cook and not have Barbara Cook? So, here is a rare . video of her on the Bell Telephone Hour in 1960, performing a medley of two songs from...The Music Man​!

(By the way, when she sings the counter-point song of "Lida Rose/ Will I Ever Tell You" with a barbershop quartet, I recognize them as the Buffalo Bills. They were in the original stage production of The Music Man with her, and then re-created their role in the movie.)

I was sorry to read about the the passing today of the great playwright Sam Shepard, at the age of 73. He won a Pulitzer Prize for his play Buried Child and wrote other works that included True West, Fool for Love and Curse of the Starving Class. He later returned to his very-early days of acting and had a successful career at that, getting an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor in The Right Stuff portraying Chuck Yeager. His many other films included Days of Heaven, Resurrection, Baby Boom, Black Hawk Down and Steel Magnolias.

I worked with him on one movie, the very little known Bright Angel, which was based on two short stories by the acclaimed author Richard Ford. It was a solid, small independent film that had a very good cast for such a tiny, unknown movie that included Dermot Mulroney (who was the star), Delroy Lindo, Bill Pullman, Mary Kay Place, Valerie Perinne, Burt Young, Lily Taylor and Benjamin Bratt in what might have been his first movie, along with Sam. And it was in one particular instance dealing with Sam Shepard that was perhaps my finest moment as a movie publicist. (Which I suppose is not saying a lot, given that movie publicity is not filled with fine moments...)

In the film, Sam played a small, but important supporting role (I think as Dermot's father, though I wouldn't swear to that at this point), so he wasn't at the filming location in Montana all that much, maybe a few days. Sam was a nice-enough fellow, willing to chat, though taciturn and a bit distant, seeming to prefer the quiet and being alone, there to do his job.

At one point, a video crew hired by the company came up to Montana to shoot for two days and get material for putting together an "electronic presskit," the EPK They timed their visit to be there specifically when enough of the actors would be around, but most especially Sam Shepard. He would be on the set filming during their second and final night, when we were out on a big field all evening until the wee hours of the morning, a ways outside of our base residence of Billings.

All was fine as the video team was getting their interviews and behind-the-scenes footage...but with one tiny hiccup. The night they showed up on the set, Sam absolutely refused to do an interview. Nope, no way, doing a video interview was not for him, no, absolutely not. I'm not sure if he was against all publicity (I suspect that wasn't the case), or if it was just because this was such a small role and he didn't want it made to seem otherwise, or maybe because it was to be videotaped, rather than a more simple print interview. I did sense that he wasn't a publicity hound and was reticent to do publicity in general, but mainly was adamant about not doing publicity specifically for this. Not at all, nothing. Sorry. Nope. I asked a few times, as politely as possible, but the answer was always a blunt, polite, but crusty, "No."

(I didn't try to do an interview for my own written purposes, but I didn't think I really had to, and so didn't want to push him for it, preferring to put my efforts into the video interview. During his time there, I had chatted with him briefly a few times and got some off-handed replies that were very helpful, which I marked down after walking away, and also picked up random comments from standing with him as he talked with the director about the movie, so I could just use those in fleshing out the production notes I was writing.)

His refusal to do a video interview was causing great stress for the "EPK" crew. Though he wasn't the star, and it was just a small role, he was still the most-famous name in the movie. And he was the reason they were there that night. And they knew they couldn't go back to the production company and say that, "Sorry, no, we didn't get anything from Sam Shepard" and justify what they were paid. (And I knew, having been around on movie sets as a publicist long enough, that to cover their rear I'd no doubt be the one blamed for it all, how the unit publicist just was no help and couldn't get Sam Shepard to talk to them.) They were able to get some behind-the-scenes footage of him when acting, but that wasn't remotely good enough. And as the pitch-black night went on and got later and later, they got more and more concerned. They'd ask me to try again, but there was a limit I could do -- it seemed that pushing any farther than I had risked pissing off Sam Shepard, and not only might he shut down, but I'd be reamed out for mucking up the set. I'd keep my eye on him, seeing how his mood was, go over to chat and listen for any crack in the exterior, but I could tell that the answer was no, period.

And then I had my Great Revelation.

I explained it to the video crew -- I said I knew from chatting with Sam since he'd arrived in Billings that he was a massive admirer of Richard Ford's works, and in fact that was one of the main reasons he agreed to be in the movie, in such a small role. I said to the video director that I thought it was remotely possible that Sam might be willing to answer a couple questions on camera specifically and only about Richard Ford, to help promote a fellow-writer's works. If I could get him to do that, would that be enough for the video? The guy lit up -- that would be great, it would work, and besides, "Once I get him on camera, I'm sure I can get him to talk about some other things." If he couldn't though, he would be really happy to get anything with Sam Shepard on video.

So, I kept an eye on things, picked my moment when it seemed all was low-key, and went over to Sam who was sitting alone, off to the side. It was probably about 2 AM at this point. I laid out my thought to him, might he be willing to talk about Richard Ford -- and Richard Ford only -- to the video crew for about three minutes? To get some well-deserved attention on the novelist? And to my utter relief, Sam said yes, he'd be absolutely fine answering a couple questions about Richard Ford on camera. O huzzah!

When I told the video director, he was overjoyed. They set up their camera, asked their few questions about Richard Ford and -- exactly as he anticipated -- once he got Sam talking on camera, he was politely able to stay pleasant and conversational and keep Sam chatting. And in the end, they got about 15 minutes of Sam Shepard on video.

Afterward, the video director was in heaven. It seemed like he was beaming so much that it shined through that very dark Montana night.

Just to finish things up, here's a short trailer for the movie. It really wasn't a "thriller" like the narrator says, but far more a character study of people impacted by their challenging circumstances, although there was plenty that was tense throughout in the edgy story. And all the better, you'll also get to see scenes here from that dark night out on the field. And a bit of Sam.

Today is Stan Laurel's birthday, born on July 16, 1890 in Ulverston, England. So, I figured that that was as good a reason as any to post this appearance by Laurel and Hardy as the guests of honor on the This is Your Life program in 1954.

(On a totally personal note, which readers of these pages will at least understand, the "inside" person who Laurel and Hardy are visiting in his hotel room when they're surprised is a very young Bernard Delfont, later Lord Delfont a renowned theatrical producer in London. I mention this because eight years after this broadcast, he produced my fave British musical, Pickwick, that starred my fave Harry Secombe.)

Author

Robert J. Elisberg is a two-time recipient of the Lucille Ball Award for comedy screenwriting. He's written for film, TV, the stage, and two best-selling novels, is a regular columnist for the Writers Guild of America and was for the Huffington Post. Among his other writing, he has a long-time column on technology (which he sometimes understands), and co-wrote a book on world travel. As a lyricist, he is a member of ASCAP, and has contributed to numerous publications.